


heathen chemistry

by little_bird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_bird/pseuds/little_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>lol this is more of a drabble than a fic but there you go.</p></blockquote>





	heathen chemistry

Seb sees the world through the lens of a sniper scope, sees the way that everything, _everything_ , can be brought down with the squeeze of a finger on a trigger and a well-aimed barrel (and his barrel is always well-aimed, of course). There’s something beautiful about that. He knows that there is an art to killing in the same way there is an art to anything that requires that kind of precision. A marksman and a surgeon aren’t as different as you’d think. That’s apparent in the steadiness of their hands. Seb understands this and Jim understands this and the two of them understand each other. They understand the sense in chaos and the beauty in a world on fire. Because London may be a city to most, but to them it’s an empire. An empire of steel and blood and bullets, an empire ruled by two kings in crowns of gold and fur. London- no, the world - is theirs to raze to the ground. And raze it they will, when they’ve taken what they can from it. When it stops being so much fun to bring the world to it’s knees over and over again, to leave them all choking on smoke and then retreat back home to hide away until they think it’s high-time to have a little more fun. Because that’s what it is, it’s _fun_. And they’ve been having a downright riot since that night in a dingy bar in a dingier city with a name that’s long since become inconsequential. Since that night when Jim, in his Westwood and his lacquered shoes, made an offer to a dishonorably discharged ex-army man with his dog tags still on and tiger-claw scars on his shoulder. A handshake and a murder and a hotel room and so and so forth until now they can’t remember a time when they weren’t crashing and shooting and tearing their way through the world, bloody hand in bloody hand. Because Jim says things like “Shoot him for me,” “Steal this for me,” “Destroy that for me,” when he’s Seb’s employer, but when they’re in their flat and he’s more than that, he says things like “If you didn’t need your hands so much, I’d take a knife and carve the lines of your palms.” and Seb takes that to mean Jim loves him, in some kind of way. And so they’ll keep killing and they’ll keep building just to tear it back down, because that is what they do and this is who they are. They’re sinners who’ve sinned so much for each other that it’s got to be a new kind of holy, because blind devotion is something like love and love is something like holiness, right? Not that that matters at all when it’s so lovely to hold the world in the palms of their hands.

**Author's Note:**

> lol this is more of a drabble than a fic but there you go.


End file.
